


Hufflepuff Halfwit

by Bellsastuff



Series: Hockey/Hogwarts AU [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellsastuff/pseuds/Bellsastuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Zhenya, the wind is coming from the west, I will not remind you again.  You shut that window before the house stinks of factories!”  She snapped and Geno stared at the owl as though maybe it would know what to do.  But instead, it had given a little hoot and wiggled inside, only to drop it’s letter on the counter.</p><p>He turned his head very slowly back to look at his mother, who had suddenly gone very quiet.  “It… just showed up, Mama.  And um.  It brought a letter.”  He waited again, looked back at the owl who had begun to nose at the pirozhkis in interest and then looked back at his mother with the best puppy dog eyes he had ever attempted.  “Can I keep it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hufflepuff Halfwit

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo..... @charleeluciano on tumblr made FUCKING AMAZING FANART FOR THIS FIC, LOOK BECAUSE IT IS SO DOPE AND GENO'S FACE YOU GUYS. http://i.imgur.com/6kU1Hmj.jpg
> 
> Please read 'On the Word of a Slytherin' before you read this or it's gonna be real confusing, probably. Again, I don't want to argue about Kane in comments, though this barely mentions all of that. Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Actually, I'm just going to put in the same author's note for 'On the Word' because. Why not, it's pretty thorough. I think.  
> '!!!!!! READ THIS !!!!!!
> 
> I'll be totally honest here. This fic came about because I was trying to figure out the Kane situation and deal with my anger and frustration on the topic. I am aware that Patrick Kane has not been officially accused of rape yet. I am also aware that there was a grand jury convened yesterday and that we'll likely get news on whether Kane will be charged or not. From what I have read on this case and how Kane has acted, liking slut shaming posts on twitter and having his buddies talk about how the girl was a slut, I am no longer a fan of Kane. Period. That has, obviously, effected how this story came together and the plot issues herein. I would stress a possible trigger warning for anyone who has been in a situation of sexual assault. I don't believe that I was graphic and I do not describe a rape in this story, but it is still a very important thing to get out upfront.
> 
> I'm not posting this to miss off Kane fans. I'm posting this because I wrote it and I think it's not terrible. If you want to speak with me on this, or get angry at me, my tumblr handle is @purekesseltrash and my inbox allows anons. For now, at least.'
> 
> Edit as of 09/13/15: Just added some extra tags to this because seriously, I don't want to trigger anyone and the thought of that is just too sad. I was in Madeline's situation in the character so I very much understand how much it can mess with your life and again, I DO NOT WANT TO TRIGGER ANYONE WITH MY FANFIC.
> 
> Also, to make it clear, I do discuss rape culture in this fic, I do use Patrick Kane being a terrible human being and sexually aggressive to women as a subplot and use the Gryffindors as an allegory for fandom and how it can be very difficult and painful to find out that someone that you loved and cared for is not the person you thought or wanted them to be. Thank you.

When Geno had turned eleven, he’d been more excited about the pie his mother was making than pretty much anything else.  It was a double crusted one and even though the work she’d been doing with the oven had made their small apartment even warmer, he knew that pie was going to be worth it.  That was why he’d been too busy watching her set the pie out onto the counter to notice, at first, that there was a tap on the window.

But even when he looked over and kept staring, it still didn’t make any sense.  For one thing, he was relatively sure that owls didn’t like to come up to people’s windows, and they certainly didn’t carry letters in their mouths.  But his interest was piqued so he’d slid across the kitchen, making sure his mother wasn’t watching, and tried to open the window completely silently.

“Zhenya, the wind is coming from the west, I will not remind you again.  You shut that window before the house stinks of factories!”  She snapped and Geno stared at the owl as though maybe it would know what to do.  But instead, it had given a little hoot and wiggled inside, only to drop it’s letter on the counter.

He turned his head very slowly back to look at his mother, who had suddenly gone very quiet.  “It… just showed up, Mama.  And um.  It brought a letter.”  He waited again, looked back at the owl who had begun to nose at the pirozhkis in interest and then looked back at his mother with the best puppy dog eyes he had ever attempted.  “Can I keep it?”

“You can not keep an owl!”  She said in an exhalation and with one swift movement, had grabbed her dishcloth and began trying to shoo the owl back out.  The owl seemed to figure that this was not the place to be and went to leave, much to Geno’s disappointment.  It had snagged a sardine before it left, which was kind of awesome.

As his mother valiantly defended her home against the owl, he had snagged the letter and studied the address.  The numbers seemed like their apartment number, but it was all in English.  And it was the strangest envelope that he’d seen, the paper heavy and purposeful.  Stranger still, when he flipped the envelope over, it was sealed with wax like something out of a story book.  The crest that had been pressed into it looked like a shield and he’d immediately smiled at the sight of a tiny badger in the corner.

His father and Denis had finally been torn from their TV show and had stumbled into the kitchen.  “An… English letter?”  His father had asked in disbelief.  Denis, who had always been better at English than his little brother, had been summarily handed the letter but it didn’t even make much sense to him.  “It says Magnitogorsk on it.  And Malkin.  But I don’t know the rest of it.”

Denis and his father had been discussing whether to open the letter when, to Geno’s immense joy, yet another owl showed up at the window.  He’d always wanted a puppy, sure, but an owl was cool too and this had to be fate.  He opened the window for it before his mother could object, but the owl had barely done more besides drop the letter and snag another sardine before flying back out the window.

His mother grabbed the new letter and yelped, “It’s in Cyrillic, why does it say Zhenya’s name?!”

Geno only managed a peek at the letter before his parents and big dumb older brother had crowded him out from reading the letter.  His thoughts were still on how one kept an owl as a pet when he heard a large thump and saw his father passed out on the kitchen floor.

And when Geno looked up, he suddenly wanted to do the same, since Valeri Kharlamov himself was standing in their kitchen, looking sheepish and very, very see through.  And that really didn’t make sense because his father had told him about Valeri Kharlamov and had shown him pictures and Geno knew for a fact that the man before him had died seventeen years ago.

“Hello.”  Valeri finally said sheepishly.  “I’m Valeri Kharlamov.”  

“We know.”  His mother managed to say.  “And you have been dead for quite a long time.”

He waved his hand dismissively, as if to say ‘Oh, that?’.  “Yes, yes, I know.  I am a ghost now, it is really pretty boring.  But then a friend from Hogwarts contacted me and said that there was a Russian Muggleborn who’d been sent his acceptance letter and it’s not as though I’m especially busy.  So I decided to stop by.  Now, which of these boys are Evgeni?”

Geno blinked and raised his hand, only to have Valeri beam, take a knee and say, “You’re a wizard, Evgeni.”

And though it had taken a while to get Vladimir up and off the floor and conscious, though still apt to get dizzy if he looked too long at one of the best Russian hockey players to touch the ice,  those initial words hadn’t yet stopped ringing through Geno’s head.  He was a wizard?  Hogwarts?  He gathered that it was a school and apparently a good one, from his mother’s grilling of Valeri on the school’s accreditations.  And it was a school for wizards, which was apparently a thing that actually existed.  When he read the letter finally, which had come complete with multiple tickets for some kind of bus, he could see that he was expected to go there.

But wait.  Geno stared up at Valeri ferociously.  “If there’s no hockey there, I’m not going.”

Valeri had just laughed and informed Vladimir that he was clearly raising his children right.  Geno had ignored the way his father had burst into grateful tears and said again, “If there’s no hockey, I won’t go.”

“There is no hockey at Hogwarts.”  Valeri said, not unkindly, but it still felt like a punch to the gut.  “There was hockey at my school, but not there.  But they do have Quidditch, which is like hockey but you can play it on brooms or trees, and it is almost as good, I promise.”

“Then I’ll go to your school.”  Geno announced.  “You were able to be a wizard and a hockey player and I want that too.”

“I wish you could.”  Valeri said, and his face was suddenly so sad.  “But Koldovstoretz, the living mountain, sleeps.  She has not sent out acceptance letters for a while.  It used to be that she would send out invitations to wizards, Pure Bloods right down to Muggleborns like us, to anyone in the USSR.  But then she stopped sending out letters and the only ones who roam her halls are ghosts like me.”

“Quidditch?”  Geno asked dubiously, but Valeri had begun to explain the game and how Koldovstoretz students would play demonstration matches on massive pines and Geno had to reluctantly admit that it didn’t sound like the worst sport.

The night had gone on and on and Geno had managed to get a slice of his birthday pie and a cup of tooth achingly sweet tea.  It was akin to the one sitting next to Valeri, the same one that he’d insisted that he really didn’t need but Geno’s mother had just as politely informed him that all guests to the Malkin household were given tea and that included long dead Russian hockey player wizard ghosts.

He’d always thought that his mother was the toughest one in his family and tonight had settled it.  He didn’t even bother to fight her on the idea of a bedtime, but he did have a brilliant idea as he looked hopefully at his father.  “Can Valeri Kharlamov sleep over?”

Vladimir had begun crying again, just as he’d hoped and Denis had joined him in giving their mother pitifully pleading looks.  “If Valeri would like to, I don’t see why not.  But no staying up all night talking!”

Valeri had, amazingly, agreed to a sleepover and they did stay up all night as Geno grilled him on what magic even was, what Hogwarts was like and, crucially, what this Quidditch thing was all about.  And when Valeri had finally left the next day, Geno wasn’t sure if he was more sad to see the ghost go, or if his father was.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

When he and Alex had entered the Great Hall for the first time, sticking close to each other in the name of Russian solidarity, he’d noticed a dark haired boy who hung back from everyone else.  He didn’t seem lonely though, he just look absorbed in staring up at the ceiling and when Geno looked up and saw the stars rippling across the ceiling like they never had in the light polluted skies of Magnitogorsk, he understood.

The boy had been one of the first who’d been called up to wear a hat, which had struck Geno as incredibly weird and that thought had only grown more certain as the Hat yelled out a word.  Ovechkin had smirked at Geno when he flinched in surprise and made a crack about how Magnitogorsk was well known for it’s pussies.  Geno had only punched him half heartedly as he watched the boy walk over to a group of people dressed in green and thought his face looked a little worried.

Geno had still been baffled about the whole Hat business by the time that his name was called.  Even as the Hat was plopped onto his head, he’d had no idea what to expect or even what to do.

He had not expected to hear a voice say in perfect, if old fashioned Russian, “I’m called the Sorting Hat, they never seem to explain to those from other countries about what I am, not properly.”

Geno brightened considerably.  He’d never met a Russian hat before and he vaguely wondered if there were other hats in Russia that he could talk to and if he could figure out how to make Denis’ precious Metallurg hat talk to him.

“I’m not speaking Russian.”  The Hat drawled, in what seemed like a great deal of amusement.  “I’m speaking people.  But, well, there are many who need to see me and you are only in the middle, so let’s get down to business, shall we?”

He’d frozen, completely unsure of what exactly getting down to business entailed.  “Oh calm down.”  The Hat muttered.  “Not a Ravenclaw then, you’d be all wrong in that house.  Not that you aren’t intelligent, but they would eat you alive.  You have a good deal of potential for greatness but nowhere near the self assurance or rampant vanity necessary, so Slytherin is out as well.  You’re certainly brave, but you aren’t necessarily loud enough to be Gryffindor.  And besides that, you do feel so familiar to that Lemieux boy.  Yes, I’m pleased with this.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”  The Hat had announced and cheers went up at the table that held a cheerful looking group of boys and girls in mustard yellow robes.  Someone had given him a little push towards their table but he still hadn’t been sure what to do until a boy from their table yelled out in Russian, “That means that you’re one of us now, come here and I’ll explain it.”

Geno would often wonder what he would have done had Gonchar, the boy who yelled, not been in Hufflepuff.  He probably would have never talked ever again to anyone but Ovechkin and that would have been a new wicked form of hell.  But instead, he had Gonch who was a friendly second year with a nice face and a great sense of humor.

It had been through Gonch that he’d met Dupuis, one of the many very nice Canadian boys that Geno would eventually meet, and was introduced to Lovejoy, who was also a first year and thankfully just as bewildered as Geno.  And the food had been incredible.  Completely exotic and strange but really good and when Geno had looked around for Ovechkin, he’d found him with a group of other boys in green and talking loudly.  So he seemed to be taking this normally.

Geno would realize how important Gonch had been later, when Gonch had pulled him away from the activities and explained to him about what it was like to live in Russian as a wizard who was not a Pure Blood.

Valeri had been dead for long enough that he wouldn’t know but Gonchar, who’s father had been a muggle and the source of the strictest secret that his Pure Blood mother had ever kept, knew full well.  Geno learned about a man named Igor Karkaroff who had a school in Norway called Durmstrang and how he’d started off by only inviting Pure Bloods to come to the school.  Slowly, the Magical Assembly had filled with more of Karkaroff’s graduates than those of Koldovstoretz, which was when the pro Pure Blood legislation had begun.

Muggleborns and Half Blood were being squeezed out of Assembly jobs, and there had been a trickle and then a flood of Muggleborns who were being arrested on trumped up charges and being sent off to work camps.  And their Muggle families were going missing, and Geno’s head had swam with thoughts of their cozy apartment in Magnitogorsk and of how his brother snored terribly in their shared room.

Gonchar had loaned Geno the use of his owl and had even added a letter of his own to the Malkins, in which Geno assured him that he was in the safest place that he could be and Gonch told them how to protect themselves from getting found out as the Muggle parents of a wizard.  Sprout, who Geno had really only just met, had ended up being invaluable as well.  She’d personally know old graduates of Koldovstoretz from her studies of Herbology and assured Geno multiple times that she would do all that she could.

At least, if Geno had to deal with this new, terrifying world, he didn’t have to do it alone.  Other academies had also had influxes of Russian and Scandinavian born students come into their rosters, with mostly Hogwarts, Beauxbatons in France and Selkirk Academy in British Columbia taking up the lion’s share of the extra burden.  Besides Gonchar and Alex, there was also Kovalchuck in Ravenclaw and Semin in Slytherin and later, Nichushkin had shown up as well.  They understood each other.  And that was good.

Geno had come to Hogwarts with almost no knowledge of English.  He’d had an hour of English per week and while he could say ‘I get to school on a bus’, he didn’t hold on to much else that could be considered useful.  If it hadn’t been for Self Translating quills and his teachers’ permission to use them during class, he would have been completely lost.  And when he was trying to have a conversation with people, or to be accurate, when they tried to have a conversation at him, he’d end up smiling and nodding helplessly at them.

It wasn’t until his English had started to improve that he realized that most people talked to him like he was a child.  And an especially dumb one at that.  He’d stewed on that fact for a long while and if not for the stories that the Hufflepuffs shared in the Common Room, ones about being condescended to and coddled, he would have taken it all more personally.   It had also been gratifying to learn that his fellow Russian students had faced the same issues as Geno, though they all had admittedly come to Hogwarts with at least a grasp on the language.  

While it had been good to hear their stories, Geno didn’t like listening to their stories nearly as much as being able to tell his own.  Since no one took Geno seriously, he got to see the most ridiculously stupid and amazing sights that he found to be hilarious.  And when around his Russian friends, he could actually recount the story back to them and share in the inane hilarity that was his life.

He didn’t just talk to them about funny things.  He also complained about how his well meaning Transfiguration seat partner kept trying to ‘teach’ him English words that he already knew.  

“So she holds up the quill and says ‘Quill!’.  I didn’t get it at first, I mean, yes, you have a quill and that is very nice for you, but she kept saying it.  So I finally said ‘Quill’ back to her and she hugged me.  Like I was a puppy who’d gone potty outside.  I’m scared she’s going to try teaching me words for ‘table’ or ‘wand’ next.”

Ovechkin had perked up at that and had put in a valiant effort to not shout in their spot in the library.  “That redhead?  Why are you complaining Zhenya, I’d love for her to hug me.”

“You can have the seat.”  He grumbled, and he was still glad that he’d switched with Alex because his seatmate had been a quiet Canadian boy who had been much too polite to be condescending and was, in fact, actually helpful.

Over time, Geno would end up being able to work out decent form communication with Sid.  In between the use of Translator quills and Sid’s knack at understanding Geno speak, they had forged their own language.  And it wasn’t as easy or as freeing as speaking his mother tongue with the other guys but Geno could still get across more to Sid than any of the other English only speakers.  

That was probably just because they mostly talked about Quidditch and hockey.

When Sid had leaned over to spot the miniature goalie that Geno was (badly) doodling on his parchment, he’d brightened a little.  “You know, my dad played goalie in the Quidditch off-season.  You like hockey?”

Geno stared at Sid with hope singing through him.  Gonch was too focused on Quidditch to want to talk about hockey and Alex was scornful of it as Quidditch was, in his opinion, the only real sport for a wizard.  And for someone who’s entire existence had been one big hunger to play hockey, it had been a very big adjustment.  “Love hockey.”  He breathed out finally, patting his chest over his heart.  “Breathe hockey.  Miss.”

Sid stared at him with something like hope blooming across his face and, without catching Binn’s attention, pulled a muggle magazine out of his bag and passed it over.    And even if Geno could barely make out one word in ten on the pages, there were pictures of jerseys and teams that he hadn’t seen in months.  Despite himself, his eyes had started to grow warm and he sniffled his nose preemptively, suddenly so homesick.

“Hey.”  Sid whispered and when Geno finally looked up, his face was all concern.  But Sid didn’t say anything and just looked at Geno for a moment more before saying in that careful way of his, “Sneak out after dinner.  Meet me at the lake, near the Willow.  Dress warm  And get stale bread rolls from the House Elves.  It’ll be Transfiguration studying too.”

Geno was suddenly confused because while England’s winters were very mild when compared to Magnitogorsk, that didn’t mean that they were fun.  Maybe this was a translation error?  Or it could possibly just be a Sidney quirk that Geno didn’t understand yet.  But he did his usual reaction to being confused and smiled and nodded.

When he snuck out, wearing the hat and mittens that his mama had knitted for him in Metallurg’s dark blue, white and red, the night wasn’t that all that bad, not really.  The snow was incredibly clean and pale under his feet with no sign of turning into the dark, depressing slush that would be filling Magnitogorsk’s streets.  He made good time and by the time he spotted Sid, he was baffled by the sight of two pairs of boots and long sticks next to him.  But he held up the bag of rolls that the Elves had happily given him and Sid’s face brightened.

He pointed to Geno’s hat and asked hopefully, “Habs fan?”

Geno tried to think of all the english words he knew and finally replied with, “Is hat.  Yes.”

“No no no.”  Sid pulled off his own hat and pointed to the large ‘C’ knitted into it.  “Montreal Canadians, they’re called ‘Les Habitants’.  Habs is their nickname.”

Though he only picked up on half of that, he got enough.  “Oh!  Not Habs.  Magnitogorsk Metallurgs.”  He bragged as he pointed to his hat.  “Best team.”

Sid’s face looked like he was very inclined to disagree and defend his team, but then something clicked in Geno’s head.  “Your owl not named Hats?”

He had the strangest laugh, honestly.  Big and honking and stupid but Geno had to smile with him.  “No.”  Sid finally said.  “He’s not named Hats.  He’s Habs.  You thought I’d name my owl after a hat?”

Geno just shrugged.  “Canadians weird.  Sid weird.  I expect do weird things.”

“You think I’m weird?”  Sid asked and he suddenly looked so crestfallen.

“Is good!”  Geno blurted out as quickly as he could, to the point that Sidney apparently was confused with what he’d actually said.  “Is good.  I like.”  He repeated.

Sid considered this and nodded finally.  “Okay.  Good.”  

“So… why am carrying bread?”  Geno asked after a few awkward moments.  That resulted in the bag being snatched from him and one of the sticks being shoved into his hand in reply.  He gave Sid another confused look and wondered if it had really been such a crazy idea to think that Sid had named his owl Hats, because Canadians could be so strange sometimes.

“Transfigure a hockey stick for me.”  Sid said with a manic grin and Geno suddenly got it.  The boots could be skates and the rolls could be pucks and the sticks, of course!  He shot Sidney the biggest grin that he could and fumbled for his wand, 35 cm and made of hawthorne with dragon heartstring and easily the coolest thing Geno had ever owned.  

He considered the stick carefully, a little thrill of excitement when he realized that the inside was still a bit green.  And of course, he should be changing it into fiberglass or something but that seemed silly and kind of unfair to the stick.  So instead, he adapted a spell that he already knew to add a bit of emphasis on growth and the stick began to shift and grow under his hands.  When it was the right size to fit Sidney, his own would need to be bigger, he passed it over with a proud grin.

Sid, however, looked more shocked than excited.  But he also looked interested, which made Geno feel a little bit better.  “How did you do that?”  He exclaimed as he picked the stick up.  “Transfiguration should be just about substituting one thing for another, not really changing it like this.  This… it’s not Transfiguration but it’s awesome!”

After letting out a little breath that Geno hadn’t been aware that he’s been holding, he gave Sid a shrug and a sheepish smile.  “Made sense.  Stick didn’t mind, is still stick.  Just big.”

Sid watched with an intense amount of concentration as Geno repeated what he’d done with the other stick, then watched as Geno hardened, flattened and smoothed the bread rolls to make them into pucks.  Sid ended up transfiguring blades onto the twin pair of boots that he’d stolen from somewhere and the moment Geno was back on the ice, with a stick in his hand and a puck weaving in front of him, he felt home again for the first time in ages.

Of course, that was silly because he definitely never played hockey in Russia with a stick and a bread roll.  And he didn’t do it with a very strange but still very cool Canadian and the stars were never as bright or as clear back home.  But he and Sid quickly got into a game of keep away and Sid was so surprisingly brilliant on the ice that everything else faded away and he was just Zhenya playing hockey again, and that was so good to feel like himself again.

After that, they kept sneaking out and playing hockey whenever they could spare time from their homework and whenever the weather cooperated.  And classes slowly began to get easier because Sidney somehow managed to describe things to him in hockey terms and hockey was a language that Geno could always understand.  

Eventually, Geno got onto a broom and sent a Quaffle flying and he realized that Quidditch would easily fit beside hockey as obsessions in his life. Flying was like skating, with the easy breathless soar that made Geno feel like a god. He loved the excitement of the Bludgers and the protective knowledge that Gonch and Lovejoy where looking out for him while Duper passed him the Quaffles for a crazy throw that shouldn’t go through but sometimes did.  And, even better, Sid also loved Quidditch as much as he loved hockey and once he’d come to terms with the fact that he’d never be a Keeper like his dad, he was a glorious Seeker.

Whenever they had spare time, or at least so it seemed, they would be pouring over the hockey magazines or the issues of Seeker Weekly that Sidney’s dad would send.  Sid would drool over the Firebolts and Geno chirp him for it and point out how the Eastern European brooms were much tougher and more powerful, braking abilities be damned.  Sid would point out the Haileybury Hammers with a worshipful air and scowl and rail at the Quebecois Quillmen almost as much as he would almost spit when he saw a Flyers jersey.  It was great and the conversations were so easy that at times he forgot about English and started talking about players in Russian and look over to just find Sidney nodding thoughtfully as though he was actually picking something up.

It had been in his Second year that Geno had decided that there was no way that he was going to let Sidney go play Quidditch without him.  It wasn’t like it was safe for him to go back to Russia anyway, as much as he might long to.  So he might as well follow Sidney to Canada and play great Quidditch with his best friend and try to figure out why Sidney hated the Flyers so much.

It had been in his Fifth year that Geno had realized that there was no way that he could leave Sidney, and that the reason for that wasn’t entirely about Quidditch.  He’d been in his bed in the dorm and trying to ignore the incredible ability of Lovejoy to snore like a freight train.  And he couldn’t sleep, so he figured that there was nothing else for it and he might as well slip his hands in his pants.

Usually he thought of the Harpies playing Quidditch, or of some really fantastic hockey plays that he’d seen or, and he was always mortified and horrified after, he sometimes thought about Alex.  He tried to never think about that though, on principle.  He’d been flitting through his usual favorites until the thought of Sid’s lips popped up into his mind.  It had startled him at first but  his body was definitely responding and he did need to sleep soon so he let his mind go there.

He came hard at the memory of Sid panting and rosy cheeked after one of their hockey practices and had been picturing sliding his hands up Sid’s shirt and feeling at the pale skin that was there and probably dusted with wispy hair like his own.

And then he proceeded to go right to sleep because, okay, he was attracted to Sid. That made sense because Sid was a good looking guy and for better or worse, Geno tried not to overthink things that weren’t hockey or Quidditch.

But the thought kept coming up in his head and it wasn’t until Sid admitted that he’d gotten very drunk one night and kissed Toews that Geno realized that it wasn’t just attraction, he also didn’t want anyone else to be with Sid.  And that, combined with the fact that being away from Sid than more than a summer made him feel sick, made him realize that he was in love with Sidney Crosby.

But again, he just didn’t overthink it.  They had Quidditch to play and NEWT exams to suffer through (Geno got an E in both Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology to no ones surprise) and he didn’t see the point in getting worked up.  Besides, Sid might not feel the same way, which would suck but wouldn’t change anything that Geno felt.

Then came their sixth year, which had started out so great because Geno finally got a puppy, thus fulfilling his childhood dream.  He hadn’t pictured having a massive slobbering three headed cerberus when he was six, but Geoffrey could still play fetch and slobber and be the coolest thing that Geno had ever seen.  Next to Dixi, of course, who had wandered into his dorm room in his Third year as a fluffball of a kitten and had simply never left his side.  She was not a fan of Geoffrey but Geno couldn’t exactly fault her for not wanting to get drooled on.

And yes, Geoffrey wasn’t technically his but Hagrid had given Geno a hearty clap on the back and assurances that he couldn’t have thought of anyone better to raise the puppy and wouldn’t Geno be excited?  The answer was yes, of course.  Even Sid seemed to like Geoffrey, or at least put up with his incessant slobbering better than Dixi.

Quidditch was also going amazingly.  Scouts had even come to watch him, Dupuis, Gonch and Benn, which was an honor.  His throwing had always been good and his flying was almost second nature and years of playing hockey had given him a certain advantage with orienting himself at high speed which in chaos.  He didn’t get as much interest as Sid, but no one did so he didn’t care.  Ovechkin definitely cared, but Geno thought he was just being an idiot.

People still tended to treat him like he was dumb.  Even though his English had become much better, especially when writing or reading, his spoken English still wasn’t anywhere near as good as any of the other foreigners besides Nichuskin, who was admittedly only a Second year.  And the fact that he was a Hufflepuff and people had a stereotype in their heads about Hufflepuffs probably didn’t help either.  But he was liked and people had finally started to seem to understand his sense of humor and despite the fact that he hung out with Sid daily, people liked him.

That wasn’t really the case for Sid, of course.  Geno kind of understood why people didn’t like Sid as much as he did, the Slytherin could be abrasive and the laser focus that he treated everything in his life seemed to throw others off.  But Sid was also really kind and willing to put in the work to help his friends succeed and if there was something to hate about that, Geno couldn’t see it.

When he heard a commotion after the disastrous Slytherin/Gryffindor match, his thoughts had gone right to Sid.  His friend might be kind but he still had a temper when it came to Quidditch and he’d actually gotten into a fight earlier with Hooch.  Though Geno had a feeling that it had more to do with how Maatta had been savagely cobbed in the neck and Sid was protective over the little Finn he’d been mentoring.  In either case, he guessed that Sid was in the thick of whatever this was and took off towards the noise with Gonch and Benn in tow.

He hadn’t expected it to be as bad as it was, to be honest.  Sid was surrounded all sides by Gryffindors but his focus was solely on their Seeker, Kane.  And he was more pissed that Geno had ever seen, and he’d seen Sid after Geno had been accidently cobbed in the balls.  Flowers was trying to get people off of Sid but for all his tenacity, Flowers wasn’t really built for it.  At least Seguin and Ovechkin were in the thick of it, which was good because it meant then Benn would have to get involved and Jamie Benn could hold his own in a fight.

Geno hadn’t thought much before wading into the mass of red, swinging and yelling as he went but if Sid heard him, he didn’t respond or do anything besides keep punching Kane.  This definitely wasn’t just Sid being mad about the game, it had to be something personal and Geno knew that he needed to get Sid out because it wasn’t going to just work itself out.  He finally managed to grab Sid around the waist in a bear hug but Sid didn’t stop.  Geno kept saying his name until he loudly snapped at him to stop and Sid went limp in his arms.

He’d ended up headbutting Talbott, which he regretted because Talbott was great, but he’d come at Sid with a lot of anger and they needed to get out of the situation.  As he dragged Sid to a nearby classroom, he’d grown more and more worried about how much like a ragdoll Sid had become, but at least Sid got to his feet and sat down on his own.  

“Gonch is going to give me so much shit for this, you know.”  Geno told him in Russian, his language of choice when he needed to say things to Sid that he wasn’t ready to actually communicate to him.  “But you do look kind of hot like this, all bloody and mad.  You still better tell me what he did, you idiot.”  

The healing charms on Sid’s jaw were as easy as healing charms usually were.  Geno had become very adept in working with living things and convincing a broken jaw that it should be an unbroken jaw was as easy as breathing.  He’d almost been sad when everyone else had joined them because Sid looked strangely good like this and Geno liked watching him.

He’d know from the second that Benn had spoken that he would be getting a lot of shit for this.  Jamie respected Sid but he didn’t really enjoy being around him much.  And the look that Gonchar was giving him was seething.  But Ovechkin was in rare form.

“Control your little love interest, Zhenya!”  He’d yelled.  “I know you think he looks nice or get a boner off his flying or whatever gets through your thick skull but that?  That was bullshit and it is going to make Slytherin look so bad.  And really, he can’t tell us?  Crosby isn’t some honorable knight, he’s a Slytherin and I don’t believe that shit for a second.  You must be out of your damned mind to like him Zhenya, can’t you see he’s just using you?!”

Even Gonchar had flinched at that.  And as much as Geno wanted to reply back, he had bigger things to worry about and he turned his attention back to Sidney who seemed distinctly out of it.

Geno had expected Sidney to crack and tell him.  After all, Sid was terrible at keeping secrets from him, so at first, he’d figured that he just needed to give him time.  But Sid didn’t crack and he’d come into the Hall one day for lunch looking like hell and Geno recognized the look on Toews face as self satisfaction.  Thanks to Gonch’s intervention, he managed to contain himself until he’d followed Toews outside long enough that no one would see him, which was when he took out the impressive amount of aggression and protectiveness that had been building up inside of him onto Toews.

He’d hoped it would help but Toews had run his mouth and Geno couldn’t stop feeling the fear that maybe he wasn’t enough for Sidney and maybe Ovi and Gonch were right.

Maybe his love wasn’t just one sided, maybe it was being used.

Ovechkin had sat him down and explained just what it meant to be a Slytherin.  He said that it meant being willing to do anything to get to where you needed to be.  He said that it meant being able to put people aside for your own ambition.  And, he pointed out to Geno, Sid was a very ambitious and very determined guy.  It would have been foolish to believe that he’d treated differently.

And Toews’ words had rolled around in his head and he wondered if Sid did have a girlfriend, which was an idea that ached at him so much that it hurt.  So when Sid suddenly decided to avoid him, he’d snapped and finally laid down to Sid that he needed to be told what had happened and he needed to know now.

When Sid continued to refuse and got angry, Geno had tried to stay calm when he described how what his friends were saying him were making him scared and confused but Sid’s face had gone furious and Geno snapped out in Russian, “What do you want me to do, Sid?  I love you but you won’t talk to me and I have no idea what to do in this situation, you selfish little shit!”

That hadn’t helped.  Sid didn’t understand a word of what he’d said, but the tone was probably clear enough.  And Sid had gotten angry enough that his accent had slipped in and Geno was terrible with accents.  He even had to struggle with McGonagall’s brogue sometimes, and the sudden switch up in grammar made him loose track of what Sid was actually saying.  And then, just like that, Sid was gone.

Geno felt raw and blank for days after.  He studied for finals and did his homework and went to Quidditch practice but he was either napping or in the process of trying to nap at any other time.  Gonch, Duper and Lovejoy tried their best to get him out of his funk but he’d only ignored them.  Kovalchuk had even tried, even though they weren’t really all that close, but Geno had shook his head.

The weirdest conversation had been when Ovechkin tried to talk to him in the library about what he’d said about Slytherin.  He looked earnest enough about it but Geno had been so sleepy that he hadn’t bothered to pay attention and eventually, Ovechkin just gave up.

When the news about Kane and the Gryffindor girl had broke, the Hufflepuff common room almost exploded with sorrow and no one more than Jamie Benn.  He and Seguin had been fighting more and more lately and as a result, Jamie had been hanging out with the Gryffindors more.  “I’d trusted them.”  He muttered from his place sprawled out on the couch.  

He looked wrecked and Geno could definitely empathize with him on that feeling.  He hadn’t been expecting it, however, when Jamie turned his head to look at Geno from his perch in a comfy chair.  “Hey.  Do you think, maybe, that this had something to do with what happened with Sid earlier in the year?  Because that’s Tyler’s guess.”

Geno kept himself from startling at that because in his haze of emptiness and then furious shock at the most recent news, he hadn’t even considered that.  “Could.”  Geno finally allowed.  “Has sister, loves her.  If he saw something, would be mad.  Would tell though.  Probably.”

Jamie groaned even louder from his spot on the couch.  “Shit, I feel like such an asshole.  And stupid.  I mean, we always get told about how it’s so great for Hufflepuffs to be loyal and trusting and all that, but how is that even a good thing if all we get from this house is being let down and treated like idiots?”

Gonch, Duper, Lovejoy and Bennett had all convened on the chairs around them, equally as morose and when Geno finally broke out his dearly hoarded bottle of vodka, Dupuis had followed suit with Yukon Jack and Bennett had handed them all brownies that Geno would later realize were not simply tasty snacks.  Fucking Californians.

It had felt almost nice in a way, Geno had thought as his mind spun and his fingers idly ran through Beau’s hair.  The kid was a lightweight and had needed to someone to hold his hair back as he puked into a bowl and Geno had obliged.  And then he’d leaned back and slumped against Geno and it was like having a much bigger version of Dixi around so he didn’t bother to move him.  Instead, he listened to Gonch’s English get steadily worse and listened to the Canadians complain and swap stories about shame and anger and trust being given to the wrong people.  Russians liked to complain too, so it was good to see that even here, in this House, people could just be people.

Geno hadn’t been too drunk, just mostly stoned as he’d come to figure out, so his hangover charms were in high demand that morning.  Beau had even moaned so piteously that Geno had taken pity and charmed the kid first.  Still, he’d been sleepy when he stumbled to breakfast and barely seemed to taste the pancakes that he’d slathered in jam or his tea.  Mornings were never something he was good at anyway.

That was his excuse, at least, for not catching on immediately when Sid went to talk to Maddie.  She’d been a wreck lately but everyone in Hufflepuff had just kind of taken that as how she was, sensitive.  But she had been worse lately.  Geno ran through the timeframe and sat up straight as Sid met his eyes and then looked away.

On their way back to the Common Room, Geno had sidled up to Madeline with a warm smile.  “Can I talk?”  He asked and felt guilty despite himself when she flinched away.  

“Um.  Alright.”  She finally agreed and they waited in the hall till the rest of their House had moved on.  Geno shoved his hands in his pockets, all awkwardness, as he finally blurted out the sentence that he’d been running through in his mind in order to be able to say it right.  “Did you make Sid promise not to tell about something?”

She began to cry and Geno panicked internally.  Should he offer her a handkerchief?  Did he have one?  Why didn’t he have one?  He had bunches back in his room with tidy ‘Metallurg’ logos in the corners. He should have brought one, he thought furiously to himself.  They were very handy things to have around.

“He saved me.”  She finally admitted me.  “Pa-  Ka-  You know who, he had his hand on my throat and then Sidney was there and he got him off of me and.  My parents, you know.  If they knew I’d been touched by a boy?  So I asked him to not tell but I was sure he would but he didn’t and he’s been getting into so much trouble and it’s all my fault.”

Geno really needed to bring handkerchiefs with him because she was sobbing now, little hiccupping sounds that broke up her words.  “He not tell anyone.”  Geno finally said, holding out his arms in the offer of a hug.

Madeline shook her head swiftly and ended up taking out a handkerchief of her own.  “How do you know then?”

“I know Sid.”  He finally answered.  “He good.  Best.  I not tell anyone, you know?  Your secret.”

She nodded and excused herself back down the hall and after a moment of thinking, Geno started to search through the castle for all of Sid’s usual haunts.  After not finding him near the lake, he’d pulled up the collar of his shirt and started to chew on it.  It was a terrible habit, as his mama would tell him, but he liked the feel of his teeth grinding something and it was a choice between his shirt or his St. Anthony medal.

He’d stopped down in his tracks when he saw someone in the Slytherin storage room and of course that would make sense.  Sid needed to be somewhere isolated to think about things and he loved cleaning.  The shed would be exactly where he’d go.  He chewed on his shirt for a moment more, considering whether it would be better to give Sid his space or to just apologize now.  His shirt dropped onto his chest as he squared his shoulders and nodded to himself.  No time like the present.

And shit, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Sid until Sid had not only tried to still keep the secret, but then also got mad with Geno and he looked so brave and ferocious and brilliant that love had swelled hot and large in Geno’s heart and the only thing that he could do was to kiss Sid.  And it was just like Sid to only allow himself a moment of enjoyment before getting mad all over again and correcting Geno’s grammar right after their first kiss and it was all so Sid that Geno couldn’t stop laughing.

Sid was the best and he’d always known that and Sid had enjoyed that first kiss so he went in for another one, which turned into another and eventually Sid had him backed up against a wall and had his hand on Geno’s cock.  It didn’t even feel weird, just completely normal and sane like of course they’d be fooling around right now, they were Sid and Geno and this was what they were supposed to do.

In the next months, the shed had become their go to spot.  This was a hotly contested issue for Sid who found it mortifying but was an endless source of amusement for Geno.  Sid had proposed that they use the Hufflepuff shed once but when Geno has gently informed him that Jamie and Seguin had already christened it, the Slytherin shed had stayed their own.  

Life was good.  Life was great, actually.  And when summer came, Geno was obviously very sad that he wouldn’t be able to slip off to the Slytherin shed with Sid for a while but this would be there last summer apart and that was great.

The problem came when Geno got the letter from Sid about how Mario Lemiuex and the Hammers were actually signing him to play after he graduated.  That hadn’t been the problem, that had been amazing, but the problem had been when Geno made the rash decision to Floo Sidney and see his face again.

The Crosby house in Cole Harbor was nice.  Cozy, actually and by the time that Geno’s head had popped up, he caught sight of a blonde girl that he’d only seen in pictures.  Taylor had been thrilled to meet him and he’d been pretty excited to meet her too.  But it wasn’t until he finally glanced over at Sid that he realized that something was definitely up.

Sid had waited till Taylor got bored of Geno’s disembodied head in their fireplace and left the room.  But once she’d left, his patience was gone.  “Do you know that, when you get an intercontinental Floo, you also get told where the person is Floo’ing you from?”  Sid asked, teeth gritted and voice tight.  Geno froze because this was not how he’d wanted to break it to Sid that he hadn’t been able to go home to Russia in six years.

In all fairness, he’d first been informed of just how bad of an idea it was to go back to Russia when Sid had just left himself for Canada after their first year.  It had been Kovalchuk, of all people, who’d sat Geno down and explained that Muggleborn Russians or Half Bloods like Kovalchuk didn’t really have the option of going home.  Not if they didn’t want to bring unwanted attention to their families.

Geno had tried to bargain with him and say that he wasn’t planning on doing magic when he was home anyway but Kovalchuk had just shaken his head gravely.  The Magical Assembly was worse than the KGB and they knew where every Russian wizard or witch were at all times.  And Geno had been through a year of training and successfully performed magic, which would definitely put him on their radar.  “I went to see my father.”  Kovalchuk explained, “And they got suspicious about why I was seeing a Muggle, and now?  We don’t know where he is.  You don’t want that, Zhenya.”

Of course he didn’t.  The idea of never seeing his mother or father or even Denis was a terrible one but the idea of them getting hurt because of him?  That made him want to vomit and when he did, and got some on Kovalchuk’s shoes, Ilya had only patted him on the back and apologized.

So he’d written a letter through tears and sent it off with Ilya’s owl and moved his things up to the Second year dorm because he wasn’t going anywhere else.

It was hardly a prison, even if during some periods of weakness he thought it was a cage.  Hagrid and Professor Sprout, who insisted that he called her Pomona despite his protestations that his mother would kill him, stayed on the grounds during the summer.  And when Kovalchuk had lost himself in the Library, Geno could wander down to the Greenhouse to help Professor Sprout harvest supplies for the next years Potions students or watch the thestrals prowl through paddocks as a result of a car crash he’d seen when six.  And when Hagrid needed an extra hand with a creature procurement, he’d always make space for Geno in the sidecar of his motorcycle.

While Geno loved Hagrid, he adored Professor Sprout.  Not only was she the one to take him out to Hogsmeade for a day out or to Diagon Alley to pick up new school supplies paid for by a scholarship, but she had stories about Koldovstoretz.  It made her wistful to tell them but she was the only one who actually knew what the wizards and witches there had been like.  

“They were lovely, dear.”  She recounted one night over tea in the Common Room.  She clacked her dirt coated nails against the tea cup in thought and let out a deep sigh.  “And you’d have been brill there, I can just see it.  Russian magic has always been different from the rest of Europe’s magic.  It’s almost European, but it’s also almost Asian.  It’s both, but it’s neither.  Instead, it’s just what it is, Russian magic.  I loved to watch them with plants, what they did always seemed to be so wonderfully natural.   They never tried to make anything different, I suppose the political climate made it so they respected stability more than most but that’s just a thought.”

She stared at the fire and tears had welled up in her eyes, just a little.  “Lovely, lovely school.  With the loveliest people.  You’ll have to see it one day, sweet pea.”

Yes, it wasn’t a cage.  It wasn’t home and the House Elves could never get borscht right, they always forgot the sour cream, but Hogwarts had taken Geno in.

Every summer, he’d considered telling Sidney. But every summer, the pain of having to actually admit to his best friend that his own country didn’t want anything to do with him would be too much and he’d leave that burden for Future Geno to take up.

And now, with his head literally in a crackling fire, he realized that he was Future Geno.

He’d told the story haltingly.  If he could have blamed it on his English, he would have happily done so but it wasn’t that.  It just hurt to much to admit that he’d been lying to Sid for years in conjunction with having to think again of how he might never be able to see his family or his home again.  After a while, he realized that he was actually crying, which was a surprise.  Geno had been known to cry if he lost a game, but that was because he was just that furious with himself.  And he’d cried when he found a savaged unicorn foal in the forest because what kind of monster wouldn’t cry about that.  But his homesickness was such an old wound by now that he’d thought he didn’t have any tears left on the subject.

Sid, for his part, was horrified.  Terrified, actually and Geno gave him a confused look.  “Geno.”  Sid finally said, “How are you going to get to Canada?”

“Sea Bus.”  He said, a bit bewildered that this was a question.  Everyone knew that the Knight Bus had a line that crossed oceans.  “Take me three days, easy.”  

“No.  No, Geno.”  Sid said, voice tight.  “How are you going to get a visa.”

“I ask for one?”  He asked quietly.  After all, he hadn’t needed one to come to England.  “Not need one for Hogwarts.”

“Because you were a student, Geno.”  Sid said in careful, clipped tones.  “A work visa is very different, and you can’t ask for one until you’re back home, and even then, it can take weeks.  You would have to go back to Russia.”

Geno had ducked out of the Floo in his panic as he stared around the Common Room.  That couldn’t be right, he thought.  Kovalchuk had accepted a job here in England with the Ministry and Gonchar had been able to move to Armenia with his new wife.  But of course, he groaned.  A marriage visa.  And it was no wonder that Ovechkin wasn’t panicking about any of this, since he was the lucky Pure Blood that somehow had been invited to Hogwarts and not to Durmstrang.  

He started to pace across the room and ignored the repeated requests to Floo, ones that had to be coming from Sid.  But he couldn’t respond, there was no way that he could think about anything besides being stuck in England for even longer.  That had to be why Kovalchuk settled here, it had to be.  And it wouldn’t be so bad, he guessed, the Quidditch teams here were great.  But Sid had signed the contract and would be in Canada.  Geno needed to be in Canada, it had been his plan for so long and now, when he and Sid were happy, it seemed impossible.

Finally, he reasoned out his choices.  Either he stayed in England for the rest of his life, which was not an option, or he would have to sneak into Russia somehow, request his visa and try to stay alive and uncaught until he got the visa.  That would be his only option, really.  He couldn’t just give up.  And hell, if he was going to die at the age of eighteen, his chest caught in panic at that, he would do it in his own country and he would do it for a cause.  For his cause.

By the time he finally accepted one of the Floo requests, Sid was as pale as Geno had ever seen him and from the stubborn set to his jaw and the puffiness of his eyes, he knew that Sid had been crying.  But Sid managed to keep his voice clear, if dull and monotone, as he asked, “Will you marry me, Geno.”

“No!”  He yelped, which was probably not the best response to the question.  “I seventeen, you sixteen.  Not ready to get married, Sid!  If we marry, it because we want, not for visa.”

“There isn’t any other option.”  Sid ground out and his face wasn’t sad anymore, but it was pissed.  “I’ve been over and over it in my head.  I’d told Mario when I signed that I wasn’t coming without you and he promised to do what he could to get you a visa but I didn’t know Russia was like that.  But I just talked to him and he filled me in and G, they will kill you if they find you.  They’ll kill your family.  And that will kill me, I can promise you that much.”

Sid was crying again and Geno was just so lost that his prior resolve had weakened but only for a moment.  “I have to try, Sid.”  He finally murmured.  “And I need…. I need to see her again.  Home.”

“Just marry me, you idiot!”  Sid hissed and to be fair, that was not how Geno had ever expected anyone to ask him to marry them.

“No.”  He repeated.  “Love you, you best, will be with you and play best Quidditch but.  Not marry you unless is because we want.  Not because you think is duty.”

“I don’t-”

“You do.”  He said plainly.  “Am Hufflepuff, know duty when I see it.”

Sid cried for a moment more and then finally spoke.  “I want to marry you, dumbass.”

“So do I.”  Geno was too tired for tears now, he was just drained.  “But not like this.”

Their seventh year seemed to go at a frantic pace, as though they both had to get in a life’s worth of time together in.  And, Geno supposed, maybe they were.  But he didn’t overthink things that weren’t hockey or Quidditch, so he let the thought go.

Sid kept pushing the marriage issue and Geno kept saying no.  It hurt the both of them to have to go over it but they were both stubborn.  And then, May had come and gone, and it was time.

Sid had stayed an extra night after graduation so they’d have his common room to themselves.  And they’d spent what Geno was thinking of as their last night together.  It wasn’t fair, nothing about it was fair but if Geno had to go through this, then at least he’d had this time with Sid.  At least he could look down at him at the bed they were sharing and feel Sid inside of him as he rode his best friend, careful and as slowly as he dared.  He’d been given a gift, and he couldn’t help but to be grateful for it.

He shouldn’t have, but Geno had left the next morning before Sid woken up and left a note on the bedside table.  His pack was heavy, but charmed within an inch of it’s life by Sid himself to contain enough camping gear, food and supplies for the entire Russian army.  His broom was only a few months old and a gift from Ovechkin who seemed incredibly guilty at the relative ease of his own visa request.  Dixi fell in behind him as he headed out to the grounds but she refused to budge and finally, he accepted that where he went, Dixi went.  After his whistle, Habs had flown down from the Owlery and perched onto Geno’s thick glove, seemingly unworried by this development.

It was with Habs and Dixi that Geno rode the Knight Bus down to Turkey, through Iran up into Kazakhstan, which was so relatively close to Magnitogorsk that it hurt, and then finally up into the northernmost part of Mongolia.  It had taken days and was clearly well out of his way, but he needed to stay in Russia as little as possible to have a chance to get to where he needed to go.  So he pulled on his robes, oilskin and made for the righteously unholy winds that would make this flight terrible.  He strapped his bag onto him and tucked Dixi into the front of his cloak.  After a few repeated commands to Habs to follow him closely no matter what, he slid on his hat, wrapped the scarf that Professor Sprout had knitted for for him and spelled so it stayed warm and lovely, and then he took off into the Ural mountain range with his Troika 3020 between his legs.

Geno flew for a day and a half and checked his compass religiously.  Professor Sprout had gone over the directions to the mountain  over and over again until they were drilled into his skull and that, thankfully, proved to be worth it because he could feel the mountain before he could see it.

Koldovstoretz.  The Living Mountain, the school for extraordinary Russian Wizards and Witches from the time that Geno’s people had been slaying mammoths.  He wouldn’t be able to enter the school, only accepted students could do that, but hopefully the closeness to that much magic would throw off Karkaroff’s men long enough to give Geno enough time.  

The mountain was achingly beautiful, snowy and cold despite that fact that it was summer and something in his heart wanted to croon to it like a beautiful woman.  Or like Sidney, but that was a strange comparison.  He circled around it for a while to just take it in, before settling down right beside where he could feel a barrier.  Something was on the Koldovstoretz side and Geno, who was so tired and still so scared, wanted to weep when he saw that familiar face.

Valeri was smiling wide and he looked almost proud.  “Zhenya.”  He finally said with a nod.  “You’ve come home.”

“As close as I can get, but yes.”  Geno said sheepishly.  “But only for a while!  I need to get a visa to Canada, it’s… well, it’s a long story.”

“But you’re not as close as you could be.”  Valeri said as though it was obvious.  “Come in, it gets cold outside and the mountain, though many years unused, still can provide cover from the wind.”

Geno pointed to the barrier and made a face.  “I’m not an accepted student, Valeri.”

A ghostly hand reached out and the same man who’d first told Geno that he was a wizard, the one he’d instinctively trusted and who had assured him that it would all be okay, now said, “Don’t worry about it, Zhenya.  Come, come.  See Koldovstoretz.”

So Geno took his almost not there hand and stepped through with Dixi and Habs and it was as if he’d stepped through air.  “I told you.”  Valeri said in response to Geno’s surprise.  “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Geno immediately acted, tearing open his bag and taking the scroll case, charmed on every spot by Sid, and opened it enough to scribble a note onto a free spot.

‘In Koldovstoretz.  Able to get past barrier?  In safe place now.  Love you, Sid.  Everything will be okay.  ))))’

He closed the case and felt the charms reattach themselves and he settled it onto Habs with hands that shook.  Geno looked at the now familiar owl and pressed a quick kiss to it’s downy head.  “Take to Sid.  Stay safe.”  And with a push up of his hand, Habs was off, to Haileybury and to Sid.

Koldovstoretz was more than Geno could have ever dreamed, honestly.  Everywhere that he walked, fairy lights gleamed in the subterranean walls beside him, illuminating swirling mosaics that seemed at first spooked from the light but then began to follow him.  They were not alone as ghosts began to flock around him like he was something magnificent.  They were wonderful too, all types of Slavs from men and women dressed head to toe in furs to pashas in silks with gleaming gilt embroidery and sumptuous beaver pelts around their necks.  He saw a man with the red crescent of Soviet communism on his hat standing next to a man so broad he could have been a bear and dressed like a viking.  

It was only after a few minutes that Geno realized that he was crying.  Valeri gave him a small smile and kindly directed him to a dormitory, as the ghosts all followed as though if they looked away, they’d lose him.  “The sheets may be dirty, but a good spell should fix them up.”  Valeri murmured, and Geno flinched.

Surrounded by his cultural ancestors, Geno had told them in as short a version as he could manage about the state of Russian politics.  Most looked furious and an old Orthodox Priest had begun to weep.  “So, you see.”  Geno took in a deep breath.  “If I do magic here, any magic, it will be like a beacon to them.  Hopefully, they think that I am dead, since I’m in an unplotted place and should be off their radar.  But if I do magic, any magic, I might as well send them an owl saying that I’m here.”

An old Sephardic Jewish man, who’d been distinctly pleased at hearing Geno’s last name, snorted derisively.  “I invented the dampening spell that sits, even now, on Koldovstoretz.  If these men think they will be able to see past it enough to see you doing magic?  They will be mistaken, and I would know.  Forty of the greatest wizards and witches of my day poured everything they had into the spell, it will hold.”

Despite his doubts, the man was very old after all, Geno did a few spells to make his little part of Koldovstoretz habitable.  The next day, he did a few more though they were more of demonstrations for the scholars who mostly haunted the library.  After a week, Geno was able to breath easy because, it seemed, the man had been right.  Karkaroff’s supporters hadn’t seemed to have noticed.  He was now free to use magic as much as he wanted and felt drunk with the fact that he was out of school and actually could do as much magic as he pleased outside of Hogwarts.  As such, he merrily did favors for the various ghosts as he proceeded to do basic but necessary fixes on the old school.

When the ghosts thanked him, he told them that it was pleasure and that had been the truth.  The rock responded to Geno like a purring cat under his touch and as silly as it sounded, he almost felt the rock’s gratitude when he sealed up a cracked wall.  He liked the work for other reasons, most of which were how the ghosts would show him old greenhouses and herbariums and, the most precious of all, a seed bank that would have made Professor Sprout weep for days.  She likely would weep for days anyway, because the ghosts also pointed him to seeds and cuttings that he was free to send to his old Professor.

He’d been free to explore by himself, except for Dixi of course who was suddenly more dear to the ghosts than he was.  The reason for that was all thanks to Sid.  Geno had been going through his pack when he noticed a small box that he hadn’t recognized, but when he opened it, he recognized it to be an Eternity Box.  “Impressive.”  He murmured and reached inside to pull out the contents.

And of course, they were the years worth of hockey magazines and Seeker Weekly issues that the two of them had always poured over together.  He’d laughed himself sick for a long while, then grew a bit morose and lonely for Sid, which eventually shifted into determination to get back to Sid.  

Valeri, the moment that he’d seen the hockey magazines, had gone rigid.  “Zhenya.”  He said carefully.  “Please let me read those.  Please.”

“Of course!”  Geno exclaimed, placing the massive stack on the bed next to him.  “My Sid, I don’t think he intended for me to have Valeri Kharlamov read his hockey magazines, but he will not mind, I assure you.”

Valeri paused in his frantic dash to the magazines long enough to give Geno a look.  “Your Sid?  He?”

Geno blinked.  “Yes.  He’s my… well, I guess boyfriend.  We haven’t talked about it.”

“Tell the ghosts that Sidney is a girl, if you would.  We are old fashioned here.  But I am glad you are happy, Zhenya.”  And then Valeri set upon the magazines like a man dying of thirst and didn’t leave them until two days later, full to bursting and eager to talk hockey with Geno.  And really, who was he to say no to talking shop with Kharlamov?!

Geno did concede that Valeri likely had a good point about not mentioning that Sidney had a cock, this was Russia after all.  And so he told those who asked that he was waiting to go to Canada to play Quidditch with his girlfriend who was very pretty and fantastically talented and answered that no, he wasn’t sure if Sidney was fertile but would be sure to ask.  It was all actually very funny, especially when a woman loftily announced to Geno that she had foreseen his Sidney giving birth to many children and that they would all, of course, come to Koldovstoretz.  The idea of the look of horror on Sidney’s face, both from the idea of him passing a child and the idea of Divination in general, was one thing that definitely kept Geno going.

And having something to look forward to was important to Geno.  When Sid had settled on the idea of having Habs tag along with Geno until he was in a safe place in Russia and then fly the visa application in, he had been firm in the fact that Habs would not be returning to Geno until Habs came back with a copy of Geno’s visa.  “I am not going to risk exposing your location, much less the increased possibility that Habs would die during one of the flights, so that I can write to you.  As much as I might like to.”  Sid had said testily and Geno had to admit, it was a good reason.

But still, he was going stir crazy inside the mountain.  Floo was impossible for two reasons, one being that a Floo coming from Koldovstoretz would have raised suspicions and also because there was not a fireplace in the entire school.  “Hot springs keep it warm, now go away I am reading about this Gretzky man.” was all that Valeri’s explanation had been.  And for all that Geno liked the seed bank, a man could only spend so much time inside a seed bank.  Sometimes, when weak, he worried that he would be stuck here and become a ghost himself, forever to be Poor Forgotten Zhenya.

Eventually, Valeri had dragged him, metaphorically, out of the mountain and pointed to a large pine tree.  “I’m going to teach you how to fly that.”  He announced.  “Keep you out of trouble.”

And he did.  The tree was much slower than a broom, unwieldy as hell and Geno had sap in places where he certainly did not want sap but he hadn’t been able to stop smiling as he circled around the mounted astride a massive pine and feeling like a true Russian wizard.

The next day, Geno had still been trying to get the sap out of the crotch of his pants when when of the Eurasian nomad ghosts, one who by his glove had once been a falconer, came down to Geno’s room and nodded to Valeri.  “Ah.”  Valeri said softly.  “It seems that you have received an owl, Zhenya.”

Geno had thrown the pants to his side, grabbed his dragonhide falconer’s glove and ran full speed for the Aviary.  His breath was harsh and choked by the time he got there but Habs had made a sleepy hoot at him.  In only a few strides, Geno was there and unbuckling the scroll from it’s harness and assuring Habs that it was the best of owls, the king/queen or whatever gender it was, Geno didn’t really care.  He opened the scroll and didn’t even care as a note fluttered from it to the ground, because that was a visa.  A Canadian Ministry of Magic official document that allowed him to legally travel to Canada to play Quidditch.  He kissed the parchment before bending down and reading the note.

‘Get your ass home.’ It read, in the neat but squished way that Geno could recognize a mile away.  ‘We have Quidditch games to win.’

Geno’s breath was shaky and he was sniffling at that, which was silly because Sidney was many things but he was not a romantic note writer to any audience but Geno.  “I got it.”  He said weakly and the crowd of ghosts erupted around him in cheers.  He said his good byes to them in a daze, just focused on getting down to his room, getting his things and more importantly, taking the Portkey hockey puck that was at the bottom of his bag back to Sidney.  It was probably lucky that Habs had thought ahead to hop onto Geno’s glove because he might just have left without him.

Dixi was meowing at Geno from the top of Sprout’s crate as if to remind him that where he went, she went and he blinked at her.  He realized, quickly, that the other ghosts had gone and it was just him and Valeri. “I know you’re anxious to get home, Zhenya.”  The ghost had said carefully, “But there is one more thing that I’d like to show you.”

He started at Valeri for moment.  He was desperate to get back, yes, but this was Valeri.  “Of course!”  He sputtered.  “Whatever you want.”

Valeri had given him a tight smile and Geno quickly enchanted the crate to follow behind them as Dixi sprawled on top of it with a loud purr.  Habs was a comforting weight as the sleepy owl leaned into his chest and Geno watched the mosaics shift around him with a pang.  He would miss this place fiercely, he knew that in his gut.  He’d only been there for a few weeks, yes, but the school felt so good to him that he knew he’d dream of it.

As they descended, the mosaic fell away to be replaced by names that shone as Geno stepped past them.  He would have liked to stop and look but Valeri was walking with a purpose.  Finally, he stopped and pointed to a wall and Geno’s heart stopped.  ‘Accepted List of those born in 1987’, the top of the wall read and there below it, shining in the same tempo as his own heartbeat and in the middle of shining names, was ‘Evgeni Malkin’.  The words were fainter than the ones earlier, but there he was, right over Ovechkin.

“When I said you had no reason to worry about entering?”  Valeri said, voice choked with emotion.  “This was why.”

“How?”  Geno finally managed.

“You were accepted before you were born.  But Koldovstoretz had stopped sending out invitations a few years after you were born and then, Hogwarts took you in.  From what you told us, I suspect that the Mountain had foreseen, somehow, that students of a certain time period wouldn’t be safe here.  And so, she didn’t send you a letter for your own protection.  But she has always known you, Zhenya.  You were hers before anyone else.”

His breath had grown shaky and sure enough, there was Gonchar and Kovalchuk in the year before him and all around them were swirling names in Cyrillic that could have been Geno’s friends, had Karkaroff not changed the course of history.  He ached for those names and for the future that they could have made for Russia together.  Those could have been his friends and this could have been his home.

“New names have started to appear, Zhenya.”  Valeri said, voice choked.  “They started in 2002, new babies that will come back.  The Mountain will wake again.  And I hope I will see you here again.”

“Of course.”  He breathed out, mind still reeling.  “You will see more of me, Valeri.  I give you my word.”

Valeri gave him a smale smile and leaned forward to place an erethral, fond kiss on both of Zhenya’s cheeks.  “I will look forward to it, Zhenya.  Now, head on home to your Sidney.”

Geno gave Valeri the wobbliest smile that he could muster, but he sat on the crate, made sure Dixi was close enough and activated his Portkey.

The first thing that he saw, after his stomach and vision stopped swimming, was that he was in an office and a very surprised curly haired man was seated behind the desk.  But his smile was friendly as he tapped a puck on his desk with his wand and came forward to offer his hand.  “You must be Evgeni Malkin.  It is a pleasure to meet you for the first time.  I’ve heard a good deal about you.  I am Mario Lemiuex.”

For someone who had just been hanging out with Valeri Karlamov, Geno hadn’t thought that he could be intimidated by someone’s celebrity but apparently he very well could.  “Good to meet.”  He finally choked out, in a state of total awe until he heard the thump of an Apparation and there was Sid.

And of course he would have that angry look.  Sid probably expected Habs to fly twice as fast and for Geno to have dropped everything to Portkey back immediately instead of packing.  And the Sid’s eye turned calculating and Geno groaned, letting go of Mario’s hand and setting Habs down.  He stood and opened his arms wide.  “Am not a polyjuiced Russian.  Am Geno.  I thought you named your owl Hats.”

Just as Geno had knew it would, that had worked and Sidney was barreling at him and kissing him fiercely, which Geno wasn’t entirely sure if they should do at first because Mario Lemieux was right there but.

He didn’t care.

He was home.

**  
**  



End file.
